“She look’d upon their weapons red, She guess’d what blood their points had shed-- ‘Where is my child? Mine only one! Oh God--oh God! Is this my son? Monsters! a mother’s curse lie strong And heavy on ye! May the tongue-- The ceaseless tongue--which well I ween Lives in the murderer’s murky breast-- With goading whispers, fell and keen, Make havoc of your rest! For ever in your midnight dream, May the wan smile, which yet delays On yon cold lips, appal your gaze-- And may a madden’d mother’s scream Ring in your ears till ye awake, And every limb with horror’s palsy shake!’-- An impulse like the grasp of death Now hardly held her gasping breath. Dire was the conflict. Mute she stood, Striving--and fain to utter more, Her writhing features struggled sore With black convulsion, till the blood Burst from her lips, a ghastly flood. Then nature gave the combat o’er, And the heart-stricken queen fell senseless on the floor!” Queen Margaret, adds the chronicle, “lyke a prisoner, was brought to London, where shee remayned till King Reyner, her father, raunsomed her with money, which summe, as the French writers affirme, he borrowed of King Lewis XI.; and because he was not of power nor abilitye to repaye so great a dutye, he sold to the French Kinge and hys heyres the kingdomes of Naples and both the Sicilies, with the countie of Prouynce, which is the very tytle that King Charles the Seaventh made when he conquered the realme of Naples. After that raunsome payde, shee was conveyed into Fraunce with small honor, which with so great triumph and honorable enterteynment was with pompe above all pride receyved into this realme xxvii. yeres before. And where in the begynning of her tyme she lyved lyke a queene; in the middle shee ruled like an empresse; towards the ende she was vexed with trouble, never quyet nor in peace. And in her very extreme age she passed her dayes in Fraunce, more like death than lyfe, languishing and mourning in continuall sorow, not so much for herselfe and her husbande, whose ages were almost consumed and worne, but for the losse of Prince Edwarde, her sonne, whome shee and her husbande thought to have bothe overlyver of their progeny, and also of their kingdome, to whome in thys lyfe nothing could be more displeasant or grievous.”